Mind Games: The 59th Hunger Games
by C.K.isback
Summary: Oh, welcome to the 59th Hunger Games! Sorry, I didn't see you there! Try not to lose your mind, and don't drip blood on the carpet, will you? Only 1 of 24 will be the Victor, but you know we're rooting for you, right sweetie? NO pressure. *closed*
1. Chapter 1

Mind Games: The 59th Hunger Games

Hopefully my random summary from an escorts POV got you're attention, or maybe you're just looking for a fun SYOT to participate in. Before you fill out that handy little chart I made down there, let me tell you about myself and this SYOT:

Hello there. My name is C.K. You might know me or one of my stories. I've been on fan fiction for about half a year, love to write, and am a little bit more than a tad insane. I guess I should also mention that I'm fourteen. The writing in this SYOT will be that of a fourteen year old girl's. So don't have really high expectations - I don't claim to be any more spectacular than average, but hopefully not abysmal.

I have done an SYOT before - I discontinued it. HOWEVER, it was nothing to do with commitment issues. It was more lack of fanfare. You see, I had to stop to do NaNo (Winna, by the way!) and a lot of people forgot about the story because of it. I was having basically NO ONE reading or reviewing it, and that was very discouraging, seeing as the whole point of an SYOT is interaction with readers. I enjoyed writing it immensely, and would've continued it if I had more people enjoying it along with me. But they'll be no breaks this time - so prepare for the epic awesomeness of an SYOT that gets past the Reapings! An astounding concept, isn't it?

Anyways, I'm taking TWELVE tributes. Only twelve. I'll pick them based on being 1st, originality, and number of spots I have left. I'll post a list in the next chapter.

**Important** I'd like them all to be in the same district (six boys, six girls) So I might switch Districts around. Try not to do anything too specific for a District.

In this SYOT, each tribute will get about a thousand word chapter in the beginning - three will do Reapings, three Train Rides, three Training, and three Interviews. After that, it will be a mix-up of everyone's POV's.

Here's the form!:

Name:

Age:

Gender:

District:

Physical Appearance:

Anything special about their appearance?:

Personality (Detailed):

Family:

Introverted or Extroverted?:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Reaping or Volunteered (If volunteered, why?)

Strategy in the Games?:

Interview Angle?:

Sum your character up in one word:

Alliances?:

Romance?:

Reaping Outfit:

Interview Outfit:

Chariot Outfit:

Token:

Anything else?:

There will be a sponsor system. I'll post how to sponsor once all the tributes are in. - you automatically get one point for submitting a girl tribute, and


	2. Tribute Update 2

Hello there again. Still don't have all my girls. I LIKED all the girls sent in, BUT…here are the two reasons I rejected two:

- Azlira, love you like a sister, but since I'm only accepting twelve, I want to give everyone a chance

- No Careers. Clearly stated in all caps at the end of the last update.

Great, girls, though! Now I need two more!

Here's the updated list:

_**The LIST! (In Progress, updated)**_

**District 4: **Female: Serene Avalon

Male: Royalty "Roy" Jacobbson

**District 7: **Female: Chrysanthemum (Chrys) Verina

Male: Harlem Nocturne

**District 9: **Female: Adonis "Ade" Yarrow

Male: Jendra Holland

**District 10: **Female: Pluck Zerox

Male: Luc Prince

**Boys with undefined Districts (I want to wait for girls to come so I can match them up where I think they would be best):**

**- Twine Markel**

**- Toboe Ramonova**

**AGAIN: NO boys. Not accepting any more. TWO NON CAREER girls needed - variation is the best way to go if you want to be accepted. **

**Can't wait for this to start! I already am writing a bit of Roy's reaping, and getting ideas for everyone else's chances.**

**Sponsor system will be posted once I have all my tributes.**


	3. Final List and Sponsor System

Hey guys! I finally got all my tributes. The Games will be starting soon, and I will post new chapters within a week. I can't wait!

_**The LIST!:**_

**District 4: **Female: Serene Avalon

Male: Royalty "Roy" Jacobbson

**District 7: **Female: Chrysanthemum (Chrys) Verina

Male: Harlem Nocturne

**District 8: **Female: Rosalina "Rose" Woodruff

Male: Toboe Romonova

**District 9: **Female: Adonis "Ade" Yarrow

Male: Jendra Holland

**District 11: **Female: Orchidaceae "Orchid" Ferrier

Male: Twine Markel

**District 12: **Female: Pluck Zerox

Male: Luc Prince

_**HOW TO SPONSER, POINTS!:**_

You can sponsor your tribute ( or another, if yours dies) through doing any of these things, starting now!

1. Submit a stylist (Details in tribute form not referring to Games) (3 points)

2. Submit a mentor (Details in tribute form not referring to Games) (3 points)

3. Submit a mutt (2 points)

4 Submit an arena idea (Be detailed) (4 points)

5. I will post a question (Hunger Games trivia) At the end of each chapter when the story begins. The first three correct answers will get 3 points.

**I can judge whether you tried hard enough or not, and can withhold points if I feel like it.**

Things you can buy with points:

1. Water bottle full of water (15 points)

2. Backpack equipped with empty canteen (13 points)

3. Netting (10 points)

4. Wire (10 points)

5. Pot of soup (13 points)

6. Crackers and dried beef (14 points)

7. Small pack - crackers, water, matches (17 points)

8. Medium pack - matches, sleeping bag, crackers, dried beef, water (25 points)

9. Large pack - matches, sleeping bag, water canteen full of water, pot of soup, crackers, night vision goggles, netting, and wire (35 points)

**Anyways, that's it! Let the Games begin!**


	4. District 4: Royalty Jacobbson

**Here it goes! Isn't this exciting? Thank you Azlira for giving me Roy - he really captured my heart. I myself went through a really unhappy period in my life, so Roy really spoke to me.**

**I hope you enjoy, and I started off on the right foot. Let the Games begin!**

**Royalty Jacobbson, age 16: District Four**

Men aren't supposed to cry.

That's what Dad always says - one of his favorite phrases. It is embedded - whether I like it or not - eternally in my brain. It is only a small contribution to the collection of his "words of wisdom" jammed into my mind, sitting on a shelf right between "Suck it up" and "A mace is your best and only friend."

I watch for a brief second as the razor flashes down, slicing into skin as easily as if I am cutting into butter. As I look away, my peripheral vision catches a light trail of scarlet painting the side of my arm. I don't have to look, not really. The pain is the only thing that matters.

I'm disgusting, a sorry excuse for a human. I'm not supposed to do this - not supposed to cry, not supposed to cut. Certainly not at the same time. But I can't stop - it doesn't matter how hard I try or how much I resist. As long as the pain keeps coming, I'll never be able to.

Well, I could make it stop. But that would require killing my father. And I want to kill him - so, so badly. But I'll never be able to do that. I guess I didn't mention that - I'm a coward too.

I'm everything my father speaks bad about, looks down upon. A pacifist. A dreamer. Someone who just wants to _live_. But he doesn't know that, and as long as I keep quite, he never will.

I can hear footsteps coming up the stairs, deep heavy thuds that belong to my father. Quickly, I put the razor under my bed sheets and strap on my leather bracelet, which covers the cut and most of the blood. For good measure, I tuck my hand - even though its burning like hell - under my blankets too. He won't notice - he never does.

"Roy?" He opens the door without waiting for an answer, peaking his head in. He doesn't look mad - at least, not his normal anger. For some reason, he seems cheerful.

"Reaping's today," he says happily.

Oh. That's why. I had forgotten.

My stomach curls as I think about the Games, but I don't let it break through. I keep it bottled up and tight, not letting any of my discomfort leak through.

"Cool," I say, hopping up off the bed. I sneak a peak at my wrist - the band made the recent damage unnoticeable. But then again, I could be dripping blood from my eyes and my father still wouldn't notice it.

He smiles thinly. "Yeah. Cool," he says it as if it is a foreign word. "Get ready, though. We're leaving in ten minutes." The door was just about to close when he ducked his head back in. "Oh yeah," he says. "I heard Esabell and Reddard might be volunteering today." He chuckled, unmasked bloodlust in his eyes. "That should be an interesting one, eh?"

I nod, keeping my eyes on the carpet.

As he had said, both the boy and girl were top picks to emerge as Victors in the Games, the girl especially. Her name was Esabell, and she was about as mean as you could get. I remember being only six years old, peering through the tall apple tree in my backyard as I watched an eight year old Esabell coax a stray cat into her yard, using her new birthday present - a brand new axe - to split it in half. I still tasted bile in my mouth each time I think about it - there had been so much blood, and it was crying for hours after that until it was finally worn-out enough to die out in the sun.

Frankly, I wouldn't mind if she _did_ volunteer for the Games. Maybe she'd die with an axe in her head. That would be wonderful - karma.

I grab my freshly ironed tux off of its hanger, pulling it on quickly then walking down the steps and into the kitchen.

It's just my father in there - Mom left a few years ago. She was smart - she knew that my father was crazy. I just wish she had taken me with her.

Father looks at me from his coffee. "Good," he grunted, settling back down into his chair and staring at the stacks of paper in his hand.

I already knew what they were - Betting Slips, for when the Games began. He was the chief of betting - and his guesses were usually correct. It was sickening, that gleam he got in his eyes when the Games began, pen in hand and curled over his - and everyone else's - Betting Slips. I usually didn't watch the first part, just to avoid it.

I don't say anything - just pour some juice. I stare down at the chipped glass, rubbing my index finger over the large crack. I realize my hands are shaking.

I always get anxious during Reapings, but this seems different. Different from the sad, different from hurt. Just numbness - a cold defeat.

It's scares me. I set the glass down and clench my hands into fist, taking a deep breath. It'll all be okay, I tell myself.

After a while, Father finishes filling out the preliminary Betting Slips, then yells at me to get out of the house and go. He walks a little ways behind, not wanting to talk. When I get there, he heads into the crowd of anxious parents, smiling slightly.

I head into the sixteen section, passing Esabell as I go. She seems sick - her face is flushed red and she is sitting on the ground, head on her knees. Maybe she won't volunteer after all.

I sit in the middle of the circle, raking my hair back and closing my eyes against the hot afternoon sun. I stay like that for a while - tuning out all the other sounds. It's peaceful and quite in my mind.

"Hey Roy!"

I turn around, opening my eyes to see some girl - she's in my class. Her name is Kemmy, I think.

I force myself to smile, running a hand through my hair and giving a half grin. "Hey Kemmy!" I say, hoping to God that that's really her name.

She grins broadly, and I know I've guessed right. "So…" she looked at me through her thick eyelashes. "You're Volunteering this year, right?"

My façade breaks down for a moment - I'm too shocked to care. I stare at her blankly. "Who told you that?"

She shrugs and smiles sheepishly. "You just look really determined. I thought maybe this was your year."

"Oh…" I trail off, then smile apologetically. "Well, thanks."

She smiled widely, showing off perfect teeth. "No problem."

I turned back around, looking up at the stage. I try to forget what Kammy said, watching as the escort runs her mouth, not really listening. But I can't seem to shake her words: "I thought maybe this was your year."

Maybe it is. Maybe this will finally be the day I take action, the day I finally break free from my father and his stupid dream and my sadness. Sure, I would be running into the arms of death. But somehow, that somehow seems better.

Maybe I'll finally find some happiness.

By the time the boy's name is called, I'm already walking up the steps, saying "I volunteer! I volunteer," over and over again. I don't stop until I'm up on the stage and the heavily makeuped escort is smiling down at me, sickeningly sweet.

"You're supposed to wait til we call for volunteers," she says through her teeth.

I shrug - I don't care.

Some other girl - not Esabell - volunteers in her cousin's place. Her eyes flicker up and down me. Unimpressed.

I turn away from her, closing my eyes once more, not opening them until the escort yells at me to get up, and we are led to the train.

I don't expect anyone to come and see me before the train left. I am already ready to go, listlessly pacing the floor until they could tell me I could leave. I'm ready to get out - to leave this life behind forever.

I am more than surprised when Father stomps in, slamming the door shut behind him and knocking away a chair in his path. He comes right up to me, until I can see the sweat on his forehead. His eyes are bulging and his face is nearly purple. He almost looks comically angry.

"Why?" he hisses through his teeth, taking me by the shoulders. He looks more angry than I have ever seen him. "You're an arrogant little bastard, aren't you? Just wanted the glory before you were ready?"

I don't say anything - just look down at my shoes.

He laughs, high pitched and wheezy. "You were never good enough, you know that? I knew you'd die, even if you'd waited." His face is weirdly twisted.

I look up at him, trying to keep my voice calm. The scabs on my wrist itch and burn, a reminder for why I am doing this. "You're the bastard," I say quietly. "And all I want is to get away from you. I don't care if I win or not."

For a moment, he just looks even more angry, his face growing dangerously near to blue. But then he calms down - weirdly calm. It didn't feel right. He takes a deep breath, sneering.

"Just so you know," he spits, his face only inches from mine. His breath is foul and smells like cigarettes and coffee. "I'm not betting on you."

Without another word, he turns away and storms out.

**Question: **_Catching Fire__**, **_what do Katniss and Peeta do during their private session with the Gamemakers?

**Sponsor Points:**

_CatLoverCato: 8 points_

_The Fearless Fox: 8 points_

_Bookninja15: 6 points_

**Everyone else has not submitted for points yet. You'll probably want to, seeing as I won't accept any more mentors and stylists once we start getting into this, and no more arena ideas once it starts.**

**Don't forget to review!**


	5. District 4: Serene Avalon

**Wow…thanks for the reviews, sincerely. This is a nice change from my other SYOT. Hopefully it'll keep up. Thanks for all the generous complements *blushes*. **

**Here's the next Career - Serene Avalon. I really liked her when I read her form - she seemed to have spunk. I hope I got her right…and she **_**will **_**have been originally training to be a Career - she just went a bit earlier than expected for reasons in the chapter. Enjoy!**

_**Answer to the question: **_**Katniss hangs a dummy in a noose and paints "Seneca Crain," the old head Gamemaker's name, on it. Peeta paints a picture of Rue on the gym floor. **

**Serene Avalon, age 16: District Four**

"One!"

_Crunch_.

"Two!"

_Crunch._

"Three! Harder!"

_Crack._

Dad gives a nod of approval, setting down the now broken wooden board I had been striking. I slump down into a chair, dabbing my face free of sweat and glaring at him.

"Remind me why I'm doing this again?"

Dad looks at me fondly, reaching out his hand to wipe a stringy piece of hair back behind my ear. I quickly duck out of his way, and he gives a little sigh.

"You never know what's going to happen, Serene," he says in a tired voice. I don't push him any further.

I already know what's going to happen - almost exactly. We have to learn about it in Math class every year - its put off as a "fun" activity to calculate your chances of being picked for the Reaping. Mine? One in seven hundred and thirty. Not exactly something to be worried about.

Dad opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the door interrupts him. The door opens quietly, and in pops the blonde head of my cousin, Aliana.

"They just announced that they need everyone for the R-Reaping," she says, nervously twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

"Now?" says dad tiredly.

Alaina nods quietly, then gives me a look, telling me to join her.

I quickly get up. "Thanks for the training, Dad," I say, then walk out the door of the Gym.

Aliana is waiting around the side, still nervously playing with her hair. Her eyes are wide and terrified - she looks like a dog that knows its about to be beaten.

I put my hand on her shoulder, and she startles a bit. She relaxes when she realizes its me.

"You okay?" I ask, though its pretty obvious she's not. It's not like she can help it, though - being abused by your mother for over ten years leaves some scars, I'm sure of it. It's times like these that I'm glad I'm growing up with no Mom. I'm sure a dead Mom is much less traumatizing than an abusive one.

I remember being little, and seeing Aliana every once and a while when we would go visit. She was always scarily thin, and unnaturally small and pale. Bruises had scattered her arms, looking like purple-ish leopard spots. When I was too young to know, I remember being jealous. I had wanted to look like a leopard too.

It makes me sick to think of the day I had actually told her that.

We were both five, and she was over at my house for the whole summer. We were going to go swimming, and I lent her a bathing suit to change into. We were both changing, and I caught a flash of a trail of those purple-blue spots down her pale back.

"You're so lucky," I said, looking at half a spot still peaking out on her shoulder.

She turned around, looking at me with wide eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked curiously.

"You've got those leopard spots - they're real cool looking. I wish I had some."

As I said those words, her face went pale, eyes bulging. She swallowed, and looked down at her toes. "Y-you can have them," she whispered quietly. "I don't want them"

She was really quiet all day after that, no matter how much I tried to get her to talk to me. All she would say was that she got them because she was very bad. It was only when I was older did I finally understand what was happening.

Alaina was better now, but still not completely healed. I hated what her mother did, and I would give anything to get back at her for doing this to such a sweet, innocent girl. Who knows? Maybe one day I will.

Aliana looks at me with wide eyes. "Sorry," she mutters. "I-I'm just nervous."

I frowned. "I can tell. Look, it'll be okay. Didn't you calculate your chances?" I imitate the peppy voice of our teacher.

She gives a small, quavering smile. "One out of seven hundred and eighty nine. But I-I'm not worrying about me. I'm afraid for you and T-Toby. What if something happens to you guys? What will I do?" She looks on the verge of tears.

"It'll be fine," I say firmly. "And I heard Esabell and some other guy are volunteering this year. The odds are in our favor, okay?" And it's true - the chances of us getting chosen in the first place are slim to none, and not having any Volunteers is virtually impossible. The fear that the Games are meant to instill is just a big joke in District Four, if you think about it. I don't have to fear death, and neither does she.

She nods a little. "O-okay." She still looks haunted, though. You can see the unhappiness in her eyes.

I wish I could cheer her up, but that's definitely not my specialty.

Aliana and I walk down to the square together - we're both already in our Reaping outfits. Mine is a dress of my mother's - dark grey with a pattern of flowers in the skirt. It's not the prettiest thing, but it makes her feel like she's with me. It even smells a little like her - vanilla, her favorite perfume.

We meet up with Dad, Toby, and Eva in the square. Toby's talking to one of his friends about some new game he had gotten, while Eva sits on Dad's lap. She gives me a sweet smile as I approach them, and I pick her up and hold her. She buries her face in my hair, not letting go even when I tell her I have to leave.

One last call for all children to come (loiterers would be shot on the spot immediately) and Dad manages to pry her away from my neck. I wave goodbye to both Aliana and Toby, then head off to the sixteen's section.

No one pays attention to me, but I don't complain. That's the way I like it.

The escort - a mad blue-haired lady with a love for eye shadow, chatters on into the mike while most tune her out. The mentors are picking at their nails, looking bored. For a moment, time feels like its on an infinite loop - hundreds of children baking out in the hot sun, the same minute repeated over and over again.

After thirty minutes of waiting, the Reaping balls are brought out. The escort stops her long rant of Capitol propaganda only to paw around in the male's Reaping Ball. She calls out the name "Glisten Marks" - ugh, what an awful name - in her loud, peppy Capitol accent. Immediately, a boy yells that he wants to volunteer. I recognize him as a Career in training.

The next ball is brought forward, and the escort takes her time. Slowly, as if she thinks this will increase dramatic effect, she raises it up to her eyes, reading the name very slowly.

I hold my breath, hoping it isn't me.

"Aliana Avalon."

Oh, please no.

Alaina does not cry - she just shakes on the spot, her eyes giant orbs. I can see the fear in them - a fear I haven't seen since the time of "leopard spots" and Auntie Mary.

She stands up straight as she walks toward the stage, her whole body shaking and her hands in tight fists. She blinks, then her eyes flicker towards me.

The escort waits, but no one volunteers.

I wait another heartbeat, thinking back to all the girls. One by one, they were dismissed - too young, sick, injured. No one is left.

No one is there to volunteer in Aliana's place.

I know what I must do - there's no debate in my mind whatsoever. I raise my hand shakily, walking toward the stage. The blue-haired escort pears down at me with disdain.

"I-I volunteer," I manage to choke out.

No one says a word. I guess they knew I would never let Aliana got to the Games.

The escort cracks a strained smile. "Excellent!" she chirps. She forcefully shoves Aliana back down the steps. "Off you go, sweetie!"

Aliana looks at me with terrified eyes, but I just shake my head. I need to do this - I couldn't live with myself otherwise. She knows that.

The rest of the Reaping and what follows is a blur - I listen to the escort chatter, am whisked about, and then stuck in some room like I'm an animal that can't escape. I check the door - it's locked.

After waiting, the door opens. In comes Toby, Eva, Dad, and Aliana. All are crying.

Aliana's the first to reach me - she throws her arms around me and hugs me tight. I can feel her sob into my shoulder.

"I'm s-sorry, I'm so, so, sorry -" she begins, but I cut her off.

"It's not your fault, so don't apologize," I say.

She just sobs harder, but lets go.

Dad and Toby are next - both are more solemn, tears rolling silently down their cheeks.

Toby takes me by the shoulders.

"You have to win," he says roughly, looking me right in the eyes.

"I'll try -" I say.

He cuts me off with a shake of his head. "No. You have to." Another tear slips down from the corner of his eye.

As Eva wraps herself around my leg, crying just as hard as Aliana, Dad finally approaches. In his hands, he carries a necklace.

"Here," he says quietly, putting the thin necklace in my hand. "It was your mother's."

I don't know what to say - not even what to think. So I just wrap my arms around him and try not to let go.

"I love you," I say quietly. I think it is the first time I have ever said those three words together.

He squeezes me back. "I love you too." He pulls me back, still keeping his arms on my shoulders. "Be smart. Listen to your mentors, and stay strong. Remember what I taught you."

I nod. "I will."

Everyone gives me one last hug and a goodbye, then the door slams shut behind the scarlet of Eva's dress.

For the first time in my life, I break down and cry.

**Question: What two hair colors did Effie have in the Hunger Games Trilogy? **

**Sponsor Points:**

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_Azlira: 3 points_


	6. District 7: Chrys Venia

**Hey guys! Thanks a lot for the reviews! This is the last Reaping, so I hope I did okay…I'm in a bit of a general slump right now, and can't seem to nail anything. Oh well... I know this wasn't really mentioned in Chrys's character sheet, but I made her a tad insane. Like, legitimately disturbed. Hope that's okay - I thought it might spice it up a bit.**

**Answer to Question: Pink and Orange**

**Chrysanthemum (Chrys) Venia, Age 18 District 7:**

It seems like all I remember these days is the blood: That sickly glistening red that I somehow am never able to escape. I see it everywhere - splattered on the kitchen's linoleum floor. Filling the bathtub to its brim. Gushing from my own face as I looked at myself in the mirror.

I guess by now any other human would be sick of my life - the flashes of insanity, the suppressed memories, No human contact - avoiding everyone and anyone at all costs. But I'm used to it. I know I'm the strong one, the survivor. I can live through anything. I am invincible.

At least, I try - most people don't see that, do they? Do they ever really see me? All they see is a killer - a murderous monster of a girl. And I guess they are right.

Some people hear voices - I've seen them. They're everywhere: On the street corners, in the alleyways. Sometimes even in crowded shops, all wandering around with a glazed look in there eyes, talking into the air. They aren't usually around much - the Peacekeepers take them and send them to "Farms", though most of Panem knows this is just a lie.

These are the people most associate with the word "crazy." But they're not the only ones. I'm proof.

But I'm not like them - I don't see things that aren't true. I only see the past, the true, historical past. Actual events - things that happened in my life that I wish so badly I could erase.

It can happen anywhere, anytime. I can be at the market buying milk, or sitting on the kitchen floor at home. It's like an illness that I can't get rid of - it comes in flashes, and never stays longer than five minutes.

Always the same scene…why won't it just leave?

I'm sitting at the kitchen table in my brown and black reaping dress, eating porridge and picking at the frayed ends of my outfit. Eat a spoon full of grey lumps, then rip another thread off the dress. Eat. Tug. Eat. Tug. Eat. Tug. It's quiet and warm, just the way I like it. I wish it was always this way.

But of course my peace never lasts. Any ounce of happiness, any single moment of joy, is always snatched away. This time, in the utter inconvenience of a front-row viewing of the worst moment of my life.

_Mama's sitting over at the kitchen table behind me, humming some tune I can't quite decipher. I'm reading my book - it's stupid, really. Something for school about the history of Panem. Daddy is in the back shed. He said he was going to start the lawnmower, give the grass a cutting. _

_Daddy has been acting a bit weird these past few days - he has never, ever cut the lawn. He's also never cooked us dinner like he did last night, or cleaned up him and Mama's room. It's like he's trying to be nicer, or something like that._

_I don't hear the lawn mower going outside - he's probably procrastinating. Daddy's funny that way - he say's he'll do something, and then just before he does it he backs out. He's sometimes even afraid to commit to things - but I understand why. Mama tells me that ever since Daddy won the Games thirty years ago, Daddy has never been the same._

_I try to focus on my book, but Mama's humming is too distracting. My eyes skim over a few words, going in and out of focus, until they finally just flick over and settle on Mama._

_She is looking especially beautiful today - more beautiful than I'll ever look. Her hair is twisted up into a bun, held back by silver butterfly clips that Daddy bought for her last year._

_I catch a snippet of the actual words she is singing - they're from the Hanging Tree. It has always been Momma's favorite song, for some reason. She says it makes her sad, but its beautiful at the same time. It drives Daddy mad, though he doesn't always show it. He gets this look in his eyes - this unimaginable pain, eyes glazed over. I even caught him banging his head on the table once, mumbling about "that stupid song."_

_I hear footsteps crunching against the gravel outside - Daddy, probably coming in with some excuse. I try to tune Mama out and go back to my book, fingering the frayed corner of my paper._

_I hear the faint creaking of the porch back door, and footsteps. _

_I settle back into reading my book, trying to tune everything out._

_Still, faintly I can hear as the last three notes of the hanging tree are sharply cut off._

_For a moment, I don't realize the silence, but it soons becomes apparent?_

_I turn around in my chair. "Mo-"_

_My mother is sprawled on the floor, face down. Her hair had struggled out of its pins, fanning out around her. It struggles to stay afloat in the quickly forming pool of scarlet. At her neck, a deep dark gash cuts through most of her flash, leaving her head hanging on to the rest of her body by a few inches of muscle and skin._

_Before I even have time to think, before I even begin to process what is happening, a rough hand clamps down onto my mouth, muffling a shriek. There is a ring cutting into the side of my cheek, a smooth band with sharp edges. A wedding ring._

_As I struggle, Daddy turns me around, and I can feel a sharp blade pressing against my neck. I twist around and scream, but I know that no one can hear me, and moving causes the blade of something - an axe, maybe - to slice against my skin._

_I turn a bit further, and I get a look at his face. Yes, its Daddy. But the expression I have never seen before. His face is twisted, desperate. He looks like an animal being hunted. I recognize the glaze in his eyes - the one he gets whenever he thinks about his Games._

_"Daddy, please!" I yell, twisting away from his hand. A trickle of blood drips onto the collar of my shirt. I realize its my own._

_"No!" he shouts. He's looking above my head, as if he can't see me. "I-If I don't kill you, they'll…they'll k-kill me." He chokes out a broken sob, and the axe goes down._

_Blindly, not even sure what I was doing, I grabbed the axe. A piece of the blade broke through the palm of my hand, sending blood welling around the edges. I kept my grip on it though, and still screaming, I swung the axe down._

_I close my eyes as I hear a dull thud, then a body crashing to the floor._

The memory cuts of there, and I blink once, my eyes coming back into focus. I realize that I am sitting in the same spot as my mother was when she died.

I've lost my appetite, so I set the bowl of porridge down and go outside, heading toward the Square where the Reaping is held.

No one speaks to me, but I know it is better this way. Instead of talking to people, I sit down in the dirt of the square, watching as two men carry in the shiny Reaping Balls. I can't help but think of the look in my father's eyes.

All I want is to escape this place: to leave into…I'm not even sure. Happiness? The past? I don't know what I'm looking for, or how I'm going to find it.

So, when my destiny is drawn out of the Reaping Ball, I am not afraid. Who knows? Maybe in death I will find life.

**Edited this on the fly, so excuse any mistakes. This was…hard…to get out. I know I'll perk up a bit once we transition into another thing.**

**Train rides, here we come!**

**Question: Who were the last three tributes (EXCLUDING: Katniss and Peeta) in the Hunger Games?**

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	7. District 7: Harlem Nocturne

**Hello guys! Thanks again for the reviews - they were all great. And to spindleberried - I totally see where you're coming from. Sometimes its hard for me to get the story out…especially hard with SYOTs. Thanks for the compliments, and the constructive criticism. Here is the first train ride - hope its strong enough (Hopefully, because this came out pretty easily. I had an idea for Harlem).**

**Answer: Cato, Thresh, and Foxface (When I said the Hunger Games, I meant as in the book. I forgot to italicize)**

**Harlem Nocturne, Age 17, District 7:**

The second I open my eyes from my nap on the train, I am greeted with chaos.

The first thing I see is pink - a sickly, bubble-gum pink - filling my whole vision. For a second, I think that it is all just a dream, and I am waking up under pink covers - pink, I don't know why - and in a second Mom'll come in with eggs and bacon, telling me to get up and go to school.

But then the bright wall of pink moves, and I hear screaming. Everything suddenly comes into sharp focus, the florescent lights blaring and noises a million times louder, and I get the full scene.

Our escort - formerly the pink wall - is running around the train, throwing anything up in her path dramatically, screaming about lice in her hair and causing a scene. Harassed -looking Avoxes trail desperately behind her, holding up some kind of shampoo and a bucket of water. That poor mad girl - Chrysanthemum is her name, I think - occasionally shrieks every time an Avox gets too close to her. And all the while, my "mentor", who hadn't said a word to anyone since we left, now stumbles around the train car, grabbing onto the walls and dribbling beer all down his front, mumbling about he could drink as much as he wanted because "It wasn't time to work yet."

I blink once more, hoping they'll all leave, but they're all unfortunately still there when my eyes open. I turn away instead, looking out the window. We've stopped. Does that mean this is it? That I'm ready to go see the last place I'll stay before I'm sent to my death?

I decide to get a better look, and step outside onto the small perch placed outside the train car. The night air is cool and crisp, and the only sounds that occupy the space are those of nature. I put my hands on the bars - they fashioned it like a prison, so we couldn't escape - and peer outside to get a closer look. On the horizon, I can see the grotesquely bright pinks and greens of the Capitol. Above me, there is nothing but a tiny sliver of moon, only a pinprick in the great expanse of black. No stars sprinkle the sky - too much pollution from the Capitol, I guess.

Seeing the almost completely black sky makes me miss home so much more than I ever thought I would. What's my family doing right now? I hope they're not thinking about me. I just wish I could tell them that it'll be fine, that they should move on. I don't want them to miss there lives just because of these sick Games that the Capitol calls "entertainment."

I try to control my temper, taking deep breaths and releasing my clench on the iron rails of the train

I hear the car door open, and footsteps make light thuds as they approach me. I expect it to be the other tribute, the crazy girl, but it isn't - the hazy smell of cigarette smoke is enough to tell me that.

"Hey, kid."

I turn around to see my mentor - Julius is his name, I think. He's holding a cigarette between his fingers, eyes worn and tired-looking. His hair and face is slightly wet - maybe he doused himself in cold water to get a better grip on reality.

I don't say anything, just look at him. But on the inside I can't help but think: _This _is my excuse of a mentor? _This_ is who's supposed to help me survive?

He looks at me for a long second, then takes a drag. "You might want to come back inside," he says. "Dinner's almost ready, and the guards are getting antsy with you out here."

I shake my head, turning back to the sky above me. "No thanks. I'd rather spend my last moments of life outside, rather than sitting in a stuffy room next to a pink-haired imbecile and a man who can't even sober up to help me," I say, and I can't help the venom that creeps into my words. He looks away from me for a moment, and a flash of something - hatred, pain, anger, I'm not sure - settles for a moment in his eyes. I tell myself to ignore him. Maybe if I stay quiet, he'll leave me alone.

No such hope. He takes another pull from his cigarette - longer, this time - then turns his eyes back to me. There's a strange look of pity in his expression.

He gives a long sigh, shaking his head slightly. "You don't understand, do you?"

I grimace. You can really tell this guy had given up long ago. And worse, he has given up on me. What is it? Does he think I am too weak? Am I not knowledgeable enough? Or is it simply that he doesn't have the strength to believe in any of his tributes - including me - anymore?

And that angers me to no end.

I ball my hands up into fists, and close my eyes for a moment, shutting out the world for one quick second. In that flash of a second, I try to gather myself together, tell myself that it wasn't his fault - he is just a poor, sick old man - and that it is The Games' doing. That I should be angry at the Games.

But it won't leave me, so I just try to conceal it. Maybe I'll get somewhere.

I open my eyes up again, blinking as they start to water from the smoke drifting through his cracked lips.

"What do you mean, I don't understand?" I ask through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to plug my nose.

He gives a smile, but it is anything but happy. It just makes him look more pitiful. "Everything," he whispers roughly. "The Games. Life. Death." The pain in his eyes deepens, and he desperately takes another pull from his cigarette. "What it's like to kill an innocent child in cold blood." He turns to stare at me again. "No one knows, until you're in that damn Arena." His eyes start to water, but he doesn't try to cover it up or turn away from me. That would've been better. Instead, he cries openly -loud, choking sobs - and I am forced to hesitantly pat him on the back.

He grips onto my arm, looking at me with red-ringed eyes. He looks almost insane. "You don't understand until it's over," he gasps, clutching my arm so tight that his stubby, dirty fingernails dig into my skin. It is all I can do to not pull away, to run back to the comfort of that stupid Capitol room with that silly escort and already ruined girl.

For the first time, I'm not sure if winning the Games would be better than dying in them.

**Hopefully you got the message I wanted to convey - that in the Games, there really is no winner. Feel free to make suggestions on how to improve my writing - I do fanfiction not only because I enjoy writing, but its good practice.**

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**Question: How did President Snow leave Katniss a message at the beginning of **_**Mockingjay?**_


	8. District 8: Rose Woodruff

**Hey guys. I am so, so, so sorry for the slow update. Almost a week late! I was really sick (Apparently, I got food poisoning from Waffle House. I still love that place, though) and couldn't even pick up a computer. So I had to write this, and then I didn't like the beginning, so I re-wrote it, and I still don't like it….**

**Oh well.**

**The good news is, I'm really excited for the Games, and have SO many ideas on how to make it the most shocking Games yet! And don't worry, I don't know who the winner will be yet. That's really far out.**

**Enjoy**

**Answer to Question: A white rose**

**Rose Woodruff, Age 15, District 8:**

In my family, I was always called the little ember

I guess the name's fitting - and not because I'm a redhead. My family always told me I was strong, and resilient. I burn when you get to close, and have a known temper. But I'm also quiet - almost silent as I fly through life, so unlike the people around me.

No one knows about my name here - you can tell that they think I'm a joke: Hopeless. Just because I haven't said a word to anyone. My escort has already dubbed me "The Girl with the Horrid Hair" and my mentor keeps saying that she is too tired to even come out of her room, and that she doesn't want to talk right now.

The only exception is the little boy - Toboe is his name, I think. He is the only one who has tried to talk to me.

But I can't talk to him. As stupid as it sounds, he reminds me of my little cousins - innocent and naïve. He doesn't know how bad the Hunger Games are - sure, he knows the gist of it. But he doesn't understand just how twisted the Capitol is for doing this - you can see it in his face. He's as misinformed as a Capitol citizen.

It's three in the morning when I wake up with a start.

I had been having a nightmare, something I haven't had since I was a little girl.

In the dream, I am in the Hunger Games, running through a dense forest with sweat dripping down my face and limbs aching. Behind me, Mutts follow. Each look like rats, except that they are about seven feet tall with mangy fur and no face. Instead of beady red eyes and a pointed nose, the only feature is a gaping hole positioned right in the middle, opening and closing and making a wet, sucking sound that reminded me of a drain.

The Mutts are gaining on me, and I close my eyes as I run. After a few feet, I hit something soft. I open my eyes to see the little boy, my District partner.

He is incredibly pail and skinny, limbs looking like glowing white toothpicks. Tears gush from his eyes as he falls to the ground, to weak to go on. A bloody gash runs down his leg, dripping scarlet.

"Help me," he whimpers pitifully. His cries fade as the rats advance on us. I'm terrified - I don't know what to do. I'll die if I don't do anything.

So instead of helping him, I take the little boy by his skinny shoulders and throw him headfirst into the monsters.

I don't turn around as the sucking sound intensifies into a high-pitched whirring, Toboe's screams growing louder. I just keep running, running, running, until I finally jolt awake, sweating and twisted up in my sheets.

I blink once, my eyes focusing in the room. It is disgustingly ornate - how much things could someone have that enabled them not to even lift a finger? Is this how the Capitol is - being dressed and washed and fed with the push of a button? How could anyone want this? They're stupidity is astounding.

I lie there for over an hour, but still can't shake those final images from my dream.

Through the silence, I hear a slight whimper. Am I still in my dream? Did I still throw Toboe to his death?

No. These are real.

Pushed by guilt, I get up and go into the main hall, my nightdress glowing a bright white against the tiny florescent lights dotting the pathway. I head toward Toboe's room, tying on my green bandana as I go, not really thinking that I am going to comfort a boy who will be dead in a week's time.

I push open the door just a crack, letting the small light of my flashlight flicker over to his bed, a solitary blue beam shining on his face. It catches the tears in its light, making them sparkle silver.

It's painful how much he reminds me of my little cousins. I always used to comfort them when they had nightmares.

He immediately hides his face, as if he doesn't want me to see. I come over to the edge of the bed.

"Hey," I say quietly, "I'm Rose. I…I just wanted to know if you were okay." I hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder, and he stirs under the covers, his ruffled hair peaking out.

"How can I be okay? I'm going to d-die," he moans, looking up at me. I can tell that the enormity of the Games has finally settled in. A bit of his naiveté has lifted.

"No, you're not," I say quietly, though I know it isn't true. Twelve year olds never win the Games. "You can win. All you have to do is try."

He looks up at me with disbelieving eyes, then buries his head back under the covers. The crying slows.

He's quiet for a moment, then whispers, "You know our escort?"

I furrow my brow. "Uh…yes?"

"Why…why does she dye her skin?" he whispers, sitting up on his elbows and looking up at me with wide eyes.

I nearly laugh. "I don't really know. I think she thinks it makes her look pretty."

He wrinkles his nose, his eyes confused. "It makes her look like vomit, though."

This time, I really do laugh. It feels nice, it's been so long since I have. "I know - but she doesn't think that."

He mulls this over for a second, reclining back into onto his pillow. He isn't crying anymore. "Weird," he whispers. "Do you think she knows why they have the Hunger Games?" His eyes turn to me shyly. "Do you know?"

I want to say, "I don't know," because I really don't. Who could enjoy watching the killing of innocent children on T.V.? But I guess that goes along with dying your skin the color of vomit and having your life controlled for you - they just aren't really human. On the outside, the Capitol seems innocent. Comical, even. But we know better.

"I guess they just like to watch killing right in the comfort of their own home," I say, looking away and out the window. The countryside rolls by - maybe we're in District Eleven. I watch out the window for a while longer, just taking in the peaceful scenery. It dawns on me that this might be the last time I ever see fields and orchards and picturesque country scenes ever again. But I hold back the tears - I have to be strong, if only for myself.

When I turn back around, Toboe is nestled deep in his blankets, fast asleep. His mouth is slightly open, a light snore echoing in the dark room. He looks so innocent, so breakable. A flash of warmth enters my heart.

Great. Now look what I've done - I promised that I wouldn't care, if I wanted to survive these Games. But here I am, feeling sympathy for this young boy. I want to be his ally - if only just to protect him until the very end.

I shutter when thinking about the future, about if my dream really prophesized what I would do in a life or death situation. I hope it didn't - I certainly wouldn't want to become a monster.

But I also didn't want to feel.

I look at Toboe's sleeping face one last time, then hop off the bed and return to my room. I know what I must do - protect him, until the very end. Help Toboe become a Victor. Because he's right - a twelve year old could never win. At least, he couldn't on his own. I'll just have to sacrifice myself for the greater good - a last act of redemption in my otherwise forsaken existence.

Besides, I am a little ember.

And embers always, always die out.

**Meh. Oh well. Please reviews, anyways! I'll love you forever!**

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	9. District 8: Toboe Romonova

**Helloooo….Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you guys liked Rose so much! And here's Toboe, of course. I hope I got what I was going for with his personality and such.**

**Toboe Romonova, Age 12, District 8**

Even in my sleepy, hazy brain, I can hear the loud chugging of the train getting slower and slower. I open my eyes, looking up at the ornate crystal chandelier that hangs over my bed. I have this weird feeling that it's going to fall on me, so I roll out of bed quickly, taking the silky cream covers with me and wrapping my body in them, like some strange mummy.

Yes - we're here. The train has completely stopped, and I look out the window to see my first real glimpse of the Capitol.

Colors.

Huge, bright swirling colors that hurt your eyes and seemed to almost…pulsate. Like they were alive or something. It was overwhelming, and I close my eyes for a quick moment, trying to get adjusted to the sudden attack.

The Capitol people must get lots of headaches, what with their buildings in such eye-watering colors. Maybe someone should tell them about brown, because there's none of it in sight.

"Wow…" I can't help but say to myself under my breath, latching the covers around my body tighter. Even with the colors, its more beautiful than I imagined. Way more beautiful than it is on T.V. Imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this - full of shining crystal buildings and streets that look relatively clean. The air is clear and the sky is blue. It seems like people really care about their homes and gardens and stores here.

But I have to remind myself that they most certainly don't care about me.

I take a deep breathe, closing my eyes to block out the sunlight, taking a second to wonder what my life would be like if I was born in the Capitol. I would have green hair - I'd always loved green, it was the coolest of the colors. And I wouldn't live in a Boy's Home. I'd have a proper family - a mother and a father and the whole package. Maybe even an older brother.

Thinking about an older brother takes me back to Micah - he had been the closest thing to family I had had at the Lansing Home for Boys. He had read to me when I was little, snuck food out for me when the Overseer wouldn't give me anything to eat, and had took the fall whenever I got in trouble.

Of course, I'm older now. I have to take care of myself.

I can't help but wish he was here, though. He'd probably pat me on the shoulder, then say: "Ya gotta be strong, Toboe. You have to remember that in the Games, _anyone_ can win. Including someone as smart as you."

I wouldn't have believed him, of course. But it would've cheered me up anyways.

I try to rid his face from my mind as I shuffle through the hallway of the train, still wrapped in my blankets. I figured I can do whatever I want, since I look like I'm seven and am going to die anyways. At least, that's what they think. But I'm sure that if I try hard enough, I could win. Just like Micah would say.

My mentor looks me up and down once, sighs, then goes back to his toast and eggs. Rose, the girl who had comforted me last night, gave me a weak smile before she looks down at the table, picking at the fabric. Her mentor hasn't come out of her room yet. Our escort doesn't even look up at me at all, preoccupied with some kind of electronic thing.

I sit down in the chair between Rose and my mentor - Grain - and begin to scoop up everything and anything appetizing onto my plate. Which is practically everything - it seems that the Capitol couldn't make a bad dish. I wish that I had just had one of those phones, so I could speak to Mallana, the cook at the Home who had always liked me best, and tell her how to make all of these things. Then at least the others boys would get to eat such good food every day, and not know it was only because they were possibly going to die.

No one is talking, and the silence feels weird. When I had breakfast with the boys, there was never a moment of silence.

So just to fill the void, I say: "Ms. Aurelia?"

Our escort - a lady about five times my size with skin the color of asparagus - glances over. There is something in her eyes that makes me think she doesn't want to talk to me, but I ignore it anyways. It's been a long time since anyone has even looked my way.

"What do you want?" she asks in an annoyed voice as she pulls out a shiny silver mirror with blue jewels encrusted all the way down the hilt.

"I-I was just wondering," I stammer. She reminded me vaguely of the one female Overseer - Ms. Lara - who never seemed to have time for anyone, and hated us boys. It made me wonder why she had this job. "When are we going to get off the train? I'd like to see the Center, and maybe meet some other kids." That wasn't a lie - being on the train with four people who probably couldn't stand me made me awfully lonely.

"Who would want to talk to _you_?" she sneered, not taking her eyes off of her mirror as she fluffed her pink curls.

I bite my lip, knowing that she's probably right. It still stings, though, to know that she really thinks that. I had _tried_ to be nice to her, hadn't I? I decide not to talk anymore.

From the corner of my eye, I see Rose rise out of her seat a fraction, her green eyes giving our escort a hateful glare. Her face seems redder than normal, freckles standing out.

"Could you _be_ any more obnoxious?" she hisses at Ms. Aurelia, who looks up, startled. "How did you even land this job? I'm surprised your interviewer didn't immediately go blind from having to look at your horrid skin. What are you going for, anyways? Peas? Vomit? A dinosaur? Because all of those really fit your personality and features quite well."

I can see our escorts eyes begin to water, tears streaking down her green skin. She quickly runs out of the room, sobbing dramatically. A bit of guilt rises in the pit of my stomach as Rose slowly sits back down, breathing heavily.

"You didn't have to be so mean?" I whisper quietly to her. "She really didn't mean what she said to me. She was just tired."

Rose looks at me with a mixture of pity and lingering anger. "She deserved it." she snaps, her hand clenching tightly onto her fork. "She has been nothing but rude and condescending to both of us."

There was no denying that, but the guilt didn't go away. "Still…" I take a deep breath, trying to shake it off as I scoop up some more eggs.

Grain leads us off the train, since our escort still refuses to come out of her room, and can't even string a sentence together without wailing. Not many cameras surround us - they're all focused on the Careers, most of which are enjoying the attention immensely. One girl with flowing blonde hair blows a kiss to the camera, giving a seductive wink as she plays with her skirt. The other girl is not as showy, but still stands out in the open, flexing her muscles and staring down the camera men. The boys from Two and One chat animatedly with the female reporter, and one ducks in for a kiss. Only the two from Four seem to be avoiding the attention, standing on the outside of the circle and ducking their heads away each time a camera swung near them. Eventually, the whole lot goes inside, and the camera crew follows them.

Most everyone else has gone in, but some still linger. I spot a burly boy from District 7 arguing with his mentor as they go inside, his District partner lagging behind them with a spacey look in her eyes. The pairs from Nine and Eleven are just getting out of their trains. The girl from Nine looks at the Capitol with wonder in her eyes - I can relate. The girl from Eleven seems to be the opposite - she doesn't even glance at the beautiful buildings, heading straight into the Center without even a glance at any of us. There District partners just seem to be struggling to take it all in.

Last to start to leave is the Twelve group. The boy seems angry at the girl, who couldn't be older than me, shaking his head condescendingly as she says something, then following after his mentor into the building. He looks exhausted, and you can tell that he didn't get much sleep last night.

Only the girl remains, looking bewildered and slightly angry. Her mentor pushes her to go in, and she nods reluctantly, allowing herself to be pulled along.

Rose touches my arm lightly, already moving toward the door. "We're going to look at the rooms, come on," she says, trailing behind Grain.

I shake my head. "I'll be there, just give me a second."

As everyone files into the building, I linger on the platform, looking at the Capitol. It scared me how badly I wished I had grown up here - it just seems so perfect. Like I would never go to bed hungry, or get punished for something another boy did, or be called annoying or a shrimp. Everything was great and peaceful and happy, and nothing would ever change that.

As I glance around the city one last time, starting to head down the path into the building, I feel a sharp pang of jealously, something I had never experienced before.

Because I think it would be much better to be a naïve Capitolite, shallow and silly, than to be in a District, living in squalor with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

It would be nice if things were easy for once.

**Sorry for the abrupt ending. I wanted some time to flesh out Toboe, and I wanted to give other characters a tiny amount of "screen time". I'm actually thinking of doing this thing where I have a chapter completely devoted to everyone else's training and interviews - only maybe two paragraphs at the most, just a refresher on all characters before we enter the Games.**

**Was Toboe okay? I feel like I made him too typical. I want this story to have some effort and to be enjoyable, not just something to skim through until your character comes up. But then again, I do that a lot, so I can't judge.**

**Don't forget to drop a review!**

**Question: What District were the Morphling tributes in **_**Catching Fire**_** from?**

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	10. District 9: Adonis Ade Yarrow

**Hey guys! I'm glad you all liked Toboe. I'm really enjoying writing this SYOT, and can't wait for the Games. Then again, I'm going to have to kill off people. Great…now I'm sad! I actually enjoyed writing this chapter a lot, but that might just be because I'm on a writing high right now.**

**Answer to Question: District 6, baby!**

**Adonis "Ade" Yarrow, Age 16 District 9**

_The young girl is sitting on a stool, head bowed over her growing string of knots. She's nervous, her fingers shaking, but intent the task before her. She's afraid, of course - all she wants is to keep away, to hide in her little corner and be ignored. The tributes around her are fearsome and menacing, handling weapons that she didn't even know existed. She'll surely be dead by next week, no matter how hard she tries. Can you guess who it is? You know her name, don't you., Lupin? Jasmine? Will anyone remember me?_

"Snap out of it," I find myself whispering to my own imagination. It just makes me more sad, knowing that I had told countless stories of underdog Tributes, heroically conquering and saving everyon, to my siblings Lupin and Jasmine at night. I knew that back home they'd be thinking I could do this - I could win. But I can't fool himself, no matter how much I can fool two little children. I'm might very well die, and thinking about them makes it so much worse.

For a moment, the shaking in my hand intensifies, and it slips over the rough rope, splintering the skin of my thumb. _Clumsy Adie_, I imagine Lupin saying.

I hold tears back as I shake my hand, sucking my thumb to alleviate the pain. For a moment, that's all I can think about - my thumb. It seems to hurt even more when I realize that my thumb doesn't really matter anymore. It and the rest of my body are doomed.

"That's very good."

I turn to see a boy - my District partner. Jendra is his name, I think. We hadn't really had time to talk on the train, partly because our attention had been monopolized by our intense mentors, and also because I had been doing my best to avoid him. He was incredibly intimidating.

"What?" I blurt, not thinking fast enough to know that he was referring to the large string of knots in front of me. I blush when I realize this.

But he still smiles kindly, sitting down on the stool next to me. "It's Ade, right?" he asks, snatching up his own rope and beginning to clumsily tie a knot.

I nod, not trusting my words. I was never one for small talk, as stupid as it sounds. It always seemed to be the simple things that got me.

He's silent for a moment, eyebrows raised as if he's waiting for me to speak. Finally, he sighs and says, "Look. I'm being kind of frank here, but I need allies. I think it would be best for both of our interests if we teamed up." He looks at me through narrowed eyes. "Of course, if you don't want to…"

I feel my mouth open, but no sound comes out for a moment. I finally manage "I-I have to think about it."

He looks disappointed. "No, no," he says, his voice a bit agitated. A slight crease appears as he furrows his brow. "It's obvious that you don't trust me," he looks a little frustrated at these words, "So I won't pressure you. Your lack of trust just makes me not trust you." He stands up with a slight smile. "Who knows? Maybe you have something up your sleeve that you don't want to share." He looks more than a little angry now, but doesn't do anything drastic. "That's fine by me."

Before I can tell him I've changed my mind, and beg my only possible ally to come back, he's disappeared. I check for him at all the immediate stations, but he's no where to be found.

What have I done? I've ruined my chances. I'm as good as dead now.

_No Ade, _a voice in my head says_, It'll be fine. There'll be other chances. You just have to keep hoping._

I sit down on one of the uncomfortable hard chairs located in the middle of the Training Center, watching the other Tributes. None seem to notice me staring, thank goodness.

In my mind, I record my observations.

Some of the tributes seem as confused as me. I watch as the boy from District 8 holds his bow in the opposite direction, the arrow falling down. The man at the station kindly demonstrates the right way to do it, but the boy still looks sky lighted.

The girl from Twelve is trying her hand at everything, but doesn't seem to be getting very far. I watch for a moment as her skinny fingers try to clasp a sword, slipping down the hilt at its weight. She grumbles a bit, putting her foot forward and giving a grunt as she pulls it up above her head, and the girl from District 8 gives a shout before she can accidentally split her head open. The little girl's District partner shakes his head, rolling his eyes as if he knew that would happen.

District 11 girl looks way more deadly then they usually are - she's handling these little pointy things that the nice man at the station had told me were "throwing stars". A look of simmering anger lights her face as she flings each one at a moving target, hitting it again and again.

I get a funny look from the woman at the knot tying station, so I decide its time to move. I wonder what I would be best at - I was always creative. Why not disguises?

I slip silently through the other tributes, settling down at the Disguise Station. I pick up the paintbrush and grab the pot of green. For just a second, some long forgotten memory of my mother flashes in my mind, humming some song I didn't remember the words to and painting a field of daisies. She had always loved to paint - she taught me everything I know about the subject, even if I wasn't even as half as good as her. It was still relaxing - it brought back so many good memories of me and her, side by side on a sunny day with paint on our shirts and smiles on our faces.

Nothing has been the same since she died - Dad's more distant, my siblings aren't around as much. Everyone has had to change - even Lupin and Jasmine, who weren't even old enough to be entered in the Reaping, had to grow up. It makes me wonder what my life would be like if she was still alive - happier, probably.

My train of thought is interrupted by the low squeal of a chair being pulled back. I look next to me, and a boy that I had seen from a distance was now sitting next to me. He was the one from Twelve, I think. The one who as rolling his eyes at his partner.

"Sorry," he says, picking up a red pot of paint and a brush without looking very sorry at all. "Just trying to escape the idiots."

I blush a deep red - what was it, with all these people coming near me? Couldn't they see that I wanted - needed - to be alone? This was not how I operated, surrounded by people. I was never the talkative one, and I'm not so sure I'll start now.

Will I ever be able to start?

_Yes, _a weak voice says from the back of my mind, _Keep hoping, Ade. Anything is possible in the Games._

"It's okay," I murmur, keeping my head down and eyes focused on the doodle on my arm. Daises - yellow and white and beautiful. At least, they would've been beautiful if my mother drew them.

"She's awful," the boy says, and I glance up to see him glaring at his District partner. "She doesn't understand anything about these damn Games, thinks everything'll just be butterflies and daises and that it'll all be about her." His tired-looking eyes flickered over to me. "You don't believe that, do you? You look like you know what'll happen."

Did I? I think of my body, wrapped in a blanket of crimson, limbs twisted and eyes pale, lifeless orbs. Did I know what it would be like? Did I know what it was like to die?

I can feel tears starting to sting the corner of my eyes, and push the chair back abruptly. The boy looks up at me in confusion.

"S-sorry," I manage to choke out before turning around, "I just…I just can't."

I can feel everyone's eyes on me as I walk quickly, holding a hand under my eyes to catch any stupid tears, then go outside the room. I try to pass the Avox guards, but they just shake their heads. I settle for sitting down next to one - he looked to be in his twenties, with curly golden hair and sad eyes. The brown-haired one looks at me angrily, motioning for me to return back inside.

The blonde guard rolls his eyes at him, making an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. Gently, he reaches down to me and uncurls my hand from the paintbrush I had forgotten I was still holding. He paints green words all the way down his pale forearm with surprising skill.

_It's okay. You can stay and watch with me._

I nod, leaning against the golden walls at his feet, and he slinks down exhaustedly next to me. The other guard shoots him a dirty look, but doesn't do anything else.

We don't try to communicate - why should we? We just sit there, quietly observing the other Tributes - their struggles and triumphs, their terror and confusion. The way they all seem to be on the verge of giving up, realizing that there is a one in twenty four chance that this will give them any help. We watch it all unfold as if it is just a television program (And I guess it is).

That's what I am - a watcher. Just an observer.

But though it may not the most interesting thing to be, you never know where paying attention can get you.

You never know what'll cause you to live another day.

**Sorry about kinda weird ending, but I wanted to write more, then realized it would be super long if I added what I wanted to. So I'm gonna save it for Jendra's chapter. Anyways, review! You know you want to…. : )**

**Question: How did Maysilee Donner die?**

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	11. District 9: Jendra Holland

**I'm late (Again!) So sorry. Just the story of my life - Spring Break, illness, and homework. Oh yeah. And laziness.**

**This just getting more fun with each tribute! Thanks for the support you guys have shown - I'm glad you're all enjoying this SYOT. Also, to the Fearless Fox: I don't have any plans for deaths and who'll win and stuff like that yet, just vague ideas. I am, however, thinking a lot about alliances and considering stuff like mutts and the specifics of the arena (I already have my arena, and I'm sure it'll be really interesting, but feel free to submit ideas for points still).**

**Oh yeah, and if anyone has read my short story Of Berries and Lies (shameless plug!) you might vaguely recognize a similarity to Fox's and Jendra's Private Session. **

**Answer to question: She was attacked by birds.**

_Jendra Holland, Age District 9_

"Holland, Jendra."

Okay. Deep breathes. It's okay, you're going to do fine…well, no, you're probably going to majorly screw up. Just try not to think about it.

My hands involuntarily ball into fists as I rise from the hard wooden chair beneath me. The attendant looks at me impatiently as I shuffle toward her, a small frown on her face. I guess I couldn't blame her - I was District Nine, after all. Everyone had to get bored at some point.

My eyes flicker across the three tributes remaining - Ade, who sits with her hands primly folded in her lap; the pair from Eleven; the boy from Twelve (Luc is his name, I think) who looks incredibly bored; and his District partner, who seems as if she is about to throw up all over the shiny Capitol floor.

"Holland, Jendra!"

Ugh, that annoying Capitol accent. I rush quickly toward the door just to keep her from opening her mouth again.

"Present," I say, just to annoy her. It works - her surgically-altered nose crinkles, and her brow furrows as if she can't figure out if I'm just being a twit or serious. After a moment of glaring, she sighs, shaking her head and leading me into the Training Room.

I hadn't thought about what I was going to do in my Private Session - planning just wasn't my thing. But now I realized that I should've taken a leaf out of the other tributes books if I wanted to make any impression at all.

The Gamemakers looked bored - incredibly so. They were all picking at the half-eaten feast before them, not even raising their eyes when I come in. Only one gives me an encouraging smile.

I hear the clatter of a door shutting behind me, and when I turn around the Capitol woman is gone. So much for support.

I take a deep breath, stepping forward. Yet still, no one looks at me. I start to get annoyed - it wasn't my fault I was in a higher-number District. I could be just as good as a boy from One, yet they didn't give a damn because they'd been here so long. Maybe they were all getting sleepy because of the feast or just were exhausted, but it didn't matter. It still bothered me - as it always had - that they wouldn't give me the time of day. That they could just pass over me because they were Gamemakers and I'm a boy who might die in less than week's time.

"Excuse me," I say, taking a step forward. "Excuse me?"

Two more look up, but only for a moment.

I feel my hands tighten into fists on their own accord, my teeth clenching. Still, I try to keep calm. At least, for a moment.

I look around me - everything in training is at my expense. But I didn't care about showing off my skills - after all, what are Training Scores, besides lures for Sponsors? They do nothing for my chances in the Games, except to maybe alert the Careers in which order they should kill us all off.

I need something shocking. Something attention-grabbing that will show them that I mean business - that I'm not just someone who can be dismissed and written off as they please. I am not simply a piece in a chess game - I am life. I am so much more. They seem to have lost touch with that fact - the whole damn Capitol has. Otherwise, the Games would be a fairytale. I would be home, doing anything but this - helping my mother in the kitchens or scaling trees in the forests.

_Trees._

I look up to the roof beams above me. That is it - the secret weapon that all of District Nine has…climbing.

I grab a rope from the knot-tying station, tying a blunt knife to it and lassoing it over the tallest beam in the room that stretches across either side. It goes over it on my first try, and I lower the rope with ease, snatching a bow before I begin my steady climb. A quick string of knots allows me to scale the whole thing, all the way up to the roof.

As I'm climbing, I feel something I haven't felt in a while - confidence. Ever since my name was pulled out of that stupid Reaping Ball, I have been feeling awful. Nothing ever seems to go my way, and I didn't think the Games would be any exception. But I understood - that's just the way it is. Nothing I can do to change it.

But climbing that rope, higher and higher towards the skylight that covered the whole roof, I felt it - hope. It didn't matter how many sponsors or allies or even weapons I had - as long as I was smart I stood a chance. And the more trees, of course, the better.

When I reach the top of the rafters, I can't be seen from down below, but I can see them. I can't help but give a small smirk to notice that I got the attention of at least half the table. They're all mumbling, craning their necks to see if they can catch a glimpse of me. I stay completely still, balancing precariously on the beam.

Now for the show.

I string a bow as quickly as possible - I'm not the best, but I can handle it and aim well. It fits nicely in my hands, as if it was made for me and only me. It only boosts the new-found confidence coursing through my veins.

"Here goes nothing," I whisper to myself, aiming straight toward the Gamemaker's table.

A quick shatter of glass alerts me that I hit my target - the wine glass of one Gamemaker has completely broken, shards of glass skittering across the floor and dark red wine soaking through the white tablecloth. Desperately, he and the Gamemakers nearest to him try to sop it up, while the others look around confusedly for any sign of me.

I inch a little further along the beam, then shoot down another glass. Then another. Then another.

Finally, only the Head Gamemaker's is left. With my last arrow, I break it apart with ease, and he ducks as wine splatters across the back of his chair.

While they're distracted, I scale back down on the other side of the table, away from their notice. Then, from the shadows of the room, I shoot another arrow right above the Head Gamemaker's head. He looks up in shock.

"Got you," I say quietly, the sound reverberating once around the big room. The Gamemakers all look at me incredulously, but I only smirk, enjoying the last surge of confidence that runs through me.

"You're dismissed," one says hurriedly, looking up from his wine-sodden shirt with fear in his eyes. I smile once more at them, then leave the room.

xxXXxx

_Plink._

_Plink._

_Zzzt._

I give a start as the iron bars of the porch give off a metallic sound, the stone I had hit it with sparking blue for a second before it bounces back onto the deck. Strange. I throw another stone at the bar, and it does the same thing.

"It's electricity."

I give a start at the soft voice that comes from behind me, and turn to see Ade. She smiling in an abashed sort of way, and walks awkwardly toward the seat next to me. "They…they electrified the bars so that we couldn't escape."

I don't respond with anything except a low, "Hmmm."

Seeming undeterred, she takes a steadying breath, as if it will help her find the right words. "I wanted to apologize," she says, almost whispers. "About the alliance."

It's obvious, however, that her answer is still no. I guess I can accept that though, even if it still stings to think that someone dislikes me. Okay, more than stings - it hurts. But it's not like I can change that - what could I do, force her to be my ally? Like that would go down well.

So I remain silent, throwing another pebble at the fence and listening as it makes an electric buzz. A slight blue spark accompanies the noise, then dies out quickly.

"It's fine," I say finally. "I get it - you want to do what's best for you." I laugh. "We all do."

She gives a small smile. "Amaria says the scores are about to come on - do you want to watch them with me?" Her face is cautiously hopeful.

I hesitate for a moment, then give a small smile. "Sure."

Quietly, we slip back into the room, creeping on our tiptoes away from the big room on our floor where Amaria and our mentors were positioned. I have a feeling that we both were getting a bit sick of them. Ade motions quickly toward her room, and we silently slip into it, undetected.

"Yes!" She allows herself a quick but large smile of delight before padding over to the couch in the middle of her room. It is much like the room in which I am staying - same gold and brown decorations, huge bed, everything high-tech and ornate. It made me miss my small little room back home.

"Do you think they'll try to find us?" I say, sitting down on the small couch next to her.

She grins. "After. But I think they don't want to have much to do with us at the moment.

I nod, then flick on the T.V. with a press of a button. The screens slowly comes to life, and the Capitol symbols tells us we are just in time.

"Do you think you did okay?" I ask Ade as the faces of the malicious District 1 Tributes dominate the screen.

She blushes, and I know she doesn't want to tell me. Hesitantly, she answers, "I don't know. I tried my best - showed off my climbing. But I don't think they were that impressed."

"They barely paid attention to me," I grumbled. "They were all too preoccupied with stuffing their faces."

She allows herself a giggle. "When I got in there, one of them was choking because he accidentally swallowed a whole chicken leg. Funniest thing I saw all day."

I grin, and then we watch for a moment as more faces and more numbers flash in rapid succession across the screen.

It's hard to think that almost all of them with be dead in less than a week. It hurts to imagine them - so alive in their pictures, cold and dead. The little girl with honey-colored hair from District Eight. The serious yet goofy-looking boy from Three. Even the prideful, smirking Careers makes my heart twinge. I could imagine all of them - every single one - living the lives they will now never get the chance to have. I see them having kids and getting married and growing old and being friends.

I close my eyes, because it also hurts to know that I am just like them.

"Are…Are you okay?" Ade's soft voice lures me back into the moment, and I look at her soft face - she's one of them too, even if she has accepted it.

"No," I answer. "But that's just the way it is."

As I say this, my picture flashes across the screen, and we both turn to watch with bated breaths.

"Nine," Ade says, her voice simultaneously sounding as the number appears on the screen. "Wow." You can tell by her nervous tone that she thinks she will not do so well.

"Wait," I caution as her picture comes up.

Seven.

I turn to look at her, but she's smiling. A sad little smile, but a smile all the same.

"We'll be okay," she says.

"Maybe."

She turns to look at me with sad eyes. "Well, let's just say that the odds are in our favor."

And I want nothing more than to be able to believe her.

**Again, sorry for poofing (hence chap length). I hope you liked this! And if you did, you know what to do!**

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**Question: How many siblings does Gale have and what are their names?**


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